


The Transfiguration

by Tiz



Series: Children of The Magic [1]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age 2
Genre: Alternative Story, Blood Magic, Brotherly Bonding, De Aged Fic, Fluff, Gen, Spoilers for everything, accidental blood magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-10
Packaged: 2018-03-29 21:35:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3911485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiz/pseuds/Tiz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I opened my eyes and looked around. <br/>Nobody. <br/>I frowned and sat up. The shirt I had on fell half-down on my chest. I looked at it. It was white, and even I could see it was fancy. But it was far too big for me, my hands completely covered by the sleeves and I guessed it would pool at my feet if I would stand up.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Transfiguration

** Chapter 1 **

 

The room was wrong.

I woke.

I did not open my eyes or change my breath. I knew better than that. I was unhurt, this much I could gather. But the more I waited in the too soft, too wide bed the more bewildered I grew.

The sounds were… wrong. There were altogether too many of them to begin with. How could there be such a ruckus? Clangs and chunks and bells and steps and Maker's know what else. And the smells! The bed smelled nice, in a comforting, almost _right_ way. But the air stank of waste and of smoke of another kind from the clean, pure wood smoke I was used to.

And people.

So.many.people.

I could feel them, all around me. Some felt so strange, not at all like Mother and Father and Carver and Bethany and our other homesteader neighbour. To admit, I had not known many people in my life in the Korcari Wilds. But still. They clouded all around my perception, moving in and out of what I surmised was the building I was in.

But nobody was in the same room.

I opened my eyes and looked around. Nobody. I frowned and sat up. The shirt I had on fell half-down on my chest. I looked at it. It was white, and even I could see it was fancy. But it was far too big for me, my hands completely covered by the sleeves and I guessed it would pool at my feet if I would stand up.

The bed too was too big and too wide. It had curtains. I didn't know beds could have curtains. I looked around. A cold fireplace. A rug in front of it. A desk. A window. By the soft, grey light it was early morning. A wardrobe. A chest. A leather armor and weapons on a chair.

A leather armor and weapons on a chair.

I tensed. Then I slowly left the bed, slithering among the covers. The rug was soft under my bare feet. The nightshirt was indeed as big as I had thought. I shrugged out of it, leaving it in a puddle of cloth on the floor. Even my smallclothes were too big! I shrugged out of them too.

The armor was interesting. I fingered it with care. Very well made, in greys and browns and mute greens and pinks that would make very hard to spot the wearer. The daggers too were a thing of beauty: singing lyrium and sharp, gleaming steel.

Whoever it was who owned the room, it had good taste in weaponry and armory.

Now I just had to understand why I was here. And where everybody else was. My mind flew. Mother. Father. Bethany. Carver. Where were they? My heart gave a pang and I shook my head so fast that my locks whipped my eyes. No. Focus, Gawain, focus.

The door was big and of some dark wood. I eyed it, then the window. Nobody was out here. Still, getting out naked was not particularly smart. I looked at the smallclothes on the floor. With some tying up I could manage to make a thong, perhaps. As I did so I eyed the dagger, but they were made for a full man and far too heavy for me to carry and use with ease.

I tried the door. It opened with a squeak. I cringed. It opened on a balcony, with more posh stuffs around. I waited, on tiptoe, looking around, trying to stay hidden behind some kind of plant on a column. Why would anybody put a plant on a column?

Then I realized something, and all my muscles unclenched.

Mother. Mother was here. I ran as silently as I could in the grey light of dawn toward the room I could feel she was in, then knocked.

"A moment, Bodhan. I am coming." I frowned. Bodhan? And the voice wasn't Mother's…

Steps came closer, and the door opened.

A tall woman who looked like Mother, but far older, looked down at me. I looked up at her in confusion. Her secrets swirled lazily around her, old and frail things, threatening but tame. She put a hand on her mouth and her eyes opened wide with shock.

I stood frozen. She felt Mother. She looked like Mother. But why was she so old?

Somebody was coming, tottering up the stair. I turned to look at him. A short man with a luscious brown beard and fancy clothes appeared from the stairs.

"Lady Amell, breakfast is read…" He stopped and stared at me. I was probably worth being stared at, a half-naked child on the stairs, with only a tied up thong for clothes.

Then I blinked. Amell? I knew somebody with that surname.

"Are you my grandmother?" I asked to the old woman. It would make sense. She felt Mother, but I supposed the Mother of Mother would feel the same, wouldn't she? It would make sense if she did.

But why was I here?

The old woman kept staring at me. She had grown very, very pale. Then she took a deep breath and exhaled.

"Bodhan, we will have breakfast in my room." The dwarf, who was doing a very good impersonation of a statue, blinked and nodded and walked down. Then the woman smiled a fragile smile at me "Dear, can you tell me what you remember?"

I frowned. "I remember my home. Mother and Father and Carver and Bethany and Briana. Why am I not in the Wilds? How have I got here?"

She kept staring at me on the threshold of her door. She unclenched the handle with a slow, deliberate motion.

"That is all right, dear." Well of course it was. "But can you tell me what is your name and age?"

I frowned some more. "I am Gawain Hawke, firstborn son of Malcolm Hawke and Leandra Amell and I am ten years old. Almost eleven." I added. Because it was important. I was only ten months away from being eleven after all.

The woman took in a sharp breath. Then she closed her eyes and nodded. I felt something prickle at my eyes. I dried my tears with anger. Stupid. Crying doesn't solve nothing.

"Where is my family?" My voice quavered as I spoke, but I was proud I had managed to avoid to add I wanted them.

The woman held her hand to me. I took it slowly. Her touch felt like Mother, too. That was a comfort.

"Your family is in the Wilds, of course. You don't remember, dear. You had been very, very ill, and they were afraid for your life." Her voice was soft as she led me into the room. It was grand, as the one I had slept in was, but I had only eyes for her. "Your Mother, my daughter, sent you here so you could be cured by the very best healer we could find."

I felt the tension leaving me in a flood. Oh. That explained it. The dwarf had come, with a tray full of porridge and eggs and bacon and pancakes and syrup and sausages and many other things whose scent made my mouth water. The dwarf himself was interesting, feeling so different from humans or elves and with a deep secret, hidden into his chest, deeper than the skin.

"Is this why I don't remember coming here?" I asked, eyeing the tray with interest.

She nodded at me, smiling. "Yes. And this is why I was so… surprised to see you up and about. You hadn't left your bed in many days."

I nodded. "I feel a bit weak." I admitted, casting more glances to the tray.

Grandmother smiled at the dwarf. "Come in, Bodhan, I was just telling Gawain how happy and surprised we are that he has regained so much of his health as to walk about, after his illness."

The dwarf nodded sagely. "Oh indeed! Though if I may add…" He put the tray on the desk. The desk was almost as tall as he was, so it was a difficult feat. I wondered if I should have helped him, but I did feel weak. I feared to let all that good food go waste on the floor. "I don't think the little master should be up and about so soon."

She nodded. "After breakfast you'll go back to your bed, won't you dear? The healer need to check for you."

She brought me to a chair and sat in another. I nodded. "Of course, Grandmother." I said. We shared the breakfast in a companionable silence. The food was indeed incredibly good, the bacon and sausage different from what Father brought from Lothering, but still tasty.

I was tired after eating. I left to go back to the too big bed and slept again. After all, I was still convalescent.

 

The healer woke me. Not by words of deed, no.

It was the feeling of him that woke me. I stood still with my eyes closed for the second time in the same day, shivering.

It was a strange feeling. It was like how the Strangers felt when they were in the Other Realm, with a twinge of dark blood and death, deep and rich. I stopped, my hackle rising and lifted my head like a hound to a trail. Yes, I could almost smell it. It was… eerie and different and intoxicating.

 I opened my eyes as the healer came inside. The man-other stopped on the threshold, looking at me with wide eyes. His hand contracted on the staff. I looked at it. It sang the same song of the daggers and Father’s staff. It was pleasant, but not as pleasant as the man-other himself. He was golden and silver blue, woven with magic and reality and smelled like the Fade and the dirt of man. It was strange, but good. His secret hung around him like tattered clothes and felt like tiredness and old memories.

The man smiled at me and the hand relaxed around the staff. His smile was strange, like carved in wood.

I sat up and walked to him. He was tall, though not as tall as Father. I stuck my hand to him.

“Gawain Hawke. Thank you to have healed me.”

The man’s eyes scrutinize me, maybe to see if I was ill still. I stood my ground.

He grasped my hand. “Hello, Gawain. I am Anders. Your… Grandmother told me you are feeling good, now?” He spoke slowly, his gaze never leaving me.

I nodded at him. “Yes. I was tired before, but I am well now.”

It was his turn to nod. “Good. Good. Why don’t you go to the bed so I can get a look at you?”

I did as I was told and sat on the bed, my feet dangling on the side. The bed was tall. I am not.

He raised a hand and a burst of light came toward me. I blinked and kept waiting. He let out a ragged breath and his hand started to shine blue and silver. He passed it over me. It tingled, like being rasped down with a rough brush. I giggled.

He looked sharply at me. “So… you don’t remember yesterday?”

I shook my head. “No. I remember going to sleep at home, in our homestead in the Wilds. I said goodbye to Mother, Father, Bethany and Carver and I went to sleep. That is all.”

His hand stopped glowing. He nodded again. “Well, for today you have to stay calm. Sleep and rest.”

“I shall.” His hand stopped on my hair. I stilled. It was strange, to be touched. My parents never did that.

He turned and walked out. I crept in silence toward the desk. There may have been something interesting to read here. Before the door closed with a thunk, I could hear him speaking with Grandmother outside.

“It is Hawke, Leandra. No demon in a child’s form, and nobody else.”

I frowned. Of course I was Hawke. Gawain Hawke. I could hear the click of the lock closing. It didn’t bother me.

There were many interesting things on the room. Letters and booklets written in strange languages and a pouch. I opened it. Golden coins glistened and gleamed. I counted them. Fifteen. I smiled. You can do a lot of interesting thing with fifteen sovereigns. I put these aside, for was it not my room?. There was also some very nice lockpicks. I took these, too. And a letter-opener. I tested it. It was both sharp and balance, if a bit flimsy of blade. But better than nothing.

The room must have belonged to some older relative at one point, for the wardrobe was filled with clothes for a grown man. I searched until I found a shirt that would do as a vest and belted it with the slimmer belt there was. Footwear was scarcer, but I suppose I could do without. I took five sovereigns and the letter-opener and went out of the window.  The screaming grew in intensity. Who was in pain, I wondered?

It wasn’t very hard. I can climb almost as well as I can run, after all. And I needed good clothes beside. Mother had no idea about what “good clothes” are. She seems to think that wool or cotton is good for wearing, but the only true garments are made of leather. Stiff leathers for preference. I had no reason to believe my Grandmother wouldn’t think the same and force me in wool and cotton or, Maker’s forbid, silk and velvet! I had no idea what silk and velvet were, save that they were posh fabric and I didn’t want them.

It was mid-afternoon, and incredibly hot for me. My naked feet felt good on the cold cobblestone. I left the Estate and walked out.

There were so many people!

People everywhere, secrets dark and pale and deadly, slithering or coiling or buzzing around them, connecting them to each other and to houses or parting them better than any wall. I walked on, looking around with interest. Everybody was dressed in fanciful clothes. All very posh indeed. I looked down at me. The dark blue vest I had on wouldn’t do. It was by far too fancy, with embroidery and whatnot. And I needed leathers and daggers and a bow. Mayhap there was a market where I could buy them.

Prickle-people were behind the corner, marching loudly. Prickle-people are always loud. I smiled and walked toward them. They had the big, flaming sword on their chestplate, like they always do because simple tattooing it on their forehead is too easy. As if the very fact they prickle like a bed full of bugs wouldn’t be enough to characterize them as Templars.

I smiled politely. “Hello, ser. May I ask a thing?” I asked, as sweet as I could.

The man in the front stopped and smiled down at me. “Of course, little one.”

“Do you know where is the market?”

The man pointed with his chin. “Go down here, then south after the second staircase. You’ll find the market.”

I nodded. “I see, my thanks. Maker be with you.”

His smile widened. “And with you, little one.” Idiot. I followed the instructions.

The market was a sight to behold. Not even Lothering during a Spring Faire, the only time I was ever in Lothering, was like that! There were so many booths and stands that one could easily get lost. People talked and bartered. Women dressed in rich clothes swept around. Everybody was overdressed. Maker weren’t they hot? Dwarves bellowed their goods. And underneath it all there was the song some of the clothes and weapons sang. And the screaming. Always the screaming. I turned, and saw the Tortured Ones.

They were gigantic. I could just barely see them, with their heads in their hands and glistening metal. I blinked. So it was them who screamed. If I paid attention I could almost, almost understand the people they were screaming of, of the wrong done on tortured people and of twisted lands. I shook my head. It was an echo of bygone pains. Still, why would anybody kept them was beyond me. I turned back at the market.

I spent a long time admiring the daggers and bows, then walked on toward the armorer. I fingered the leathers, thoughtfully.

“Get lost, kiddo. Yer ruining my wares.”

I didn’t turn. “How much would it be for an armor like that one.” I pointed at the one I had been touching. “made to fit me?”

The man, with long hair and a bulbous nose, laughed out loud. “Yeah yeah like anybody  is going to pay for a scrawny kiddo like you to get such a good arm…” I took out a sovereign and played with it. Father had been brought me to barter with him not for nothing and Father managed all the commerce between the nearby Chasind's tribes and Lothering. He is an amazing merchant, my Father. I saw the man’s irritation evaporate like water on a hot rock.

“A sovereign.”

I raised my eyebrows. “No more than fifty silver.” I countered.

The merchant looked at me. I looked back. I wondered if his wife knew of the half-elven child he supported with the wares he made. Likely she didn't. “Seventy-five silver.”

I nodded. “Done. I’ll pay it half now, half when ready. Which will be…”

“Tomorrow. I’ll adapt a dwarven one.” He grinned. “Come back here, I’ll take your measure.” I stood in silence while the man taped me everywhere. I had always done my own leathers before, with skin hunted and prepared by me. But I could see the man was better than I could ever be.

I paid it and went to shop for daggers and a bow. The former proved harder than the latter. Small, not too strong bows aren’t uncommon, but small daggers are. In the end, when I retraced my steps, I had a bow, two daggers and a receipt for leathers, all better than anything I could find at home or around Lothering.

Not bad. It would all be very useful when I would be back.

I went in the same way I went out. I checked the door. Still locked. I stashed my purchases under the bed and cleaned my feet with water for the basin and perused the bookcase for something interesting to read. I found a book about “The Qun”, whatever that was, and brought it on the bed to read it.

A hour or so later, the door clicked open again. I looked up. Grandmother smiled at me, a strained smile.

“Gawain, darling, the healer says you are better, but you still can’t go back home.”

I frowned, a pang of pain in my chest. I couldn’t… “Why not?”

“You could get worse during the travel. This illness has often several recurrence. You could pass it to Carver and Bethany, too.” Carver and Bethany. No. They couldn’t get ill. An image passed in my mind, of a small face and a cough that wouldn’t stop. It twisted in my chest.

“I… see.” I lowered my eyes and felt my shoulders sink.

“But you should write to your parents that you are better. I am sure they will love to receive it.”

I raised my head and smiled. “Can I?”

She smiled back. “Of course, dear, there is paper and ink on the desk.”

I walked on it, and spent the rest of the afternoon recounting to my parents what had happened. Perhaps I could send some small gift for the twins, too…

The morning after, Grandmother brought me several clothes. As I feared, there was no proper clothing at all. Just cotton and silk and velvet, black and blue mostly. They were too hot for me and I was sweating. She smiled at me.

“You are used at the Korcari, dear. It is very cold there.” It was very hot here. “But you’ll get used to live here soon enough. Here, the boots should be on your size.”

The boots too were by far too fancy and shiny. I put them on. They pinched my feet. I soldiered on. Thanks the Maker my true clothes were being prepared as I got dressed.

“Good.” She looked at me. After having fed and clothed me she seemed quite at lost about what to do with me. Like Mother, like Grandmother I thought. I smiled at her.

“Can I go to the library, please?”

She nodded, relieved. I want there. A mabari raised his head at me. I looked at him. He was as big as I was, with a powerful, deep chest and strong fangs. He started smelling me, then he made a woofing sound and licked my face. I laughed. I always enjoyed playing with the mabari at home, though not as much as Carver. Their mind was pleasant, sharp but without the worry and secrets of people. Nature knows no secret, only life and death.

It is why I like it.

Bodhan, the dwarf, smiled at me from the door. “Ah, little master, I am sure you and my son will both spoil Ser Barknight rotten.” He chuckled.

I stopped scratching the mabari behind his ears. “You have a son?”

He nodded. “Yes, he is out in the mine now, looking for lyrium. You’ll like each other, I am sure.”

I smiled at Bodhan. “I am, too.” I played with Ser Barknight for a while, then I searched for a map of Kirkwall and surrounding. I found one quite soon. There were several annotations, about places and people, but they held less interest than the map itself. I looked at it quite keenly for a while. To get out of Kirkwall, you had to follow a big road. It wasn’t hard. I mouthed the names of the places around. Sundermout. The Wounded Coast. They held… promise.

Then I felt somebody enter the Estate. I raised my head sharply.

A prickle-person.

I folded the map and put it in my pouch. I stood up and frowned. Father and Bethany were not here, they were too far to be in danger from this one. Still. Why was he here? And he felt… familiar in some way. I shook my head and caressed the back of the mabari, considering. The door opened and the prickle-person got inside. I crept up the stairs of the library, to see. I spied the man from the room upstairs.

“Ah, Master Carver. Do come in.”

Carver?

I frowned. Was this a common name in Kirkwall?

The man stepped in. He had the same disgusting armor all the prickle-people have, because making complicate targets is too smart for their dumb selves, black hair and blue eyes. I raised my eyebrow. He had a mage brother, a secret that he had held back from all and any. A templar who didn't sent his brother to the Circle? How strange. He had other secrets, twisted, gnarled things he kept from himself as well. Perhaps this is why he was frowning, and had the look of one who frowns a lot.

"Bodhan. I told you not to call me Master." He said. He sounded a bit like Father. "Where is my Mother? She said it was urgent."

Bodhan jerked his head toward the parlor. Which is a posh word for sitting room.

"There, messere. Follow me."

I frowned some more. Grandmother was in cahoots with Templars of all things? And Mother? Was there another woman? I looked around, then crept down again, wondering how I could overhear what they were talking about. My trip to get my armor would have to wait.

I spent half a hour trying to get inside the parlor, but in the end I gave up. Short of picking the lock, there was simply no way. I was frowning at the door with the mabari in tow when I felt somebody approaching the door in a hurry. I turned my head.

The door opened, a tall, strong woman with red hair and a scowl appeared in the room. Maker's breath, didn't anybody ever smile in this place? Mother and Father and Bethany smiled often at home. Carver, my Carver, didn't.

The woman stood in the door, staring at me. She had few secrets and none pale and deadly and wore them with the determination of one who makes choice and stuck with them. I liked her. As she watched me, her skin paled, the freckle on her cheekbones and nose showing stark against the pallor. Her green eyes grew huge. She swallowed, her hand clutching the door handle.

I bowed. I was not grown up in a barn like everybody in this place.

"Good day, ma'am. May I be of assistance?" I asked, as polite as I could.

"… Hawke."

I blinked. "Yes. Gawain Hawke." Was everybody dim? "At your service."

She tore herself from the door and took two steps toward me, always staring. It unnerved me. I dislike being stared at. "Hawke." She repeated. "Anders was right."

I blinked again. Ah! The man-other, the healer. He must have told her of my recovery. Mayhap she was a family friend. "I am indeed better." I cleared my throat. "I am sorry, you are…"

She straightened up. She seemed to collect herself, her fingers clenching and unclenching around the pommel of her sword. A beautiful sword. All her equipment sang of lyrium. It was most pleasant.

"You don't… Of course you don't." Of course I didn't know her name, indeed. "I am Aveline Vallen, Captain of Kirkwall's guards."

It was my turn to be surprised. I looked up at her, my eyes huge. "The captain of the guards?" I asked. "May I come in the barrack one day? I can help oiling the weapons and the like." I added. I could be useful.

She blinked at me. "Can y… Yes. Yes of course you… can. If Anders says so. You can come. I can show you around." She spoke very quickly, her eyes darting between me and the parlor. "And you can help if you like."

I smiled, happy. This was grand news! Perhaps somebody in the guard would spar with me a little. She stopped looking at the parlor's door and looked at me. She stared for a second, then a smile spread on her lips. She reached with a hand, the movement halting and tentative. I stood still. She brushed my check. Her fingers were warm and rough and callous, but nice. I smiled even more. I liked her. I did not know why, but I liked her.

"Yes. You can come in the barrack. Every time you want. I'll… I'll take care of you." I blinked. Nobody took care of me, never. "I'll make sure you are allright." It sounded like a promise. I smiled once more. She smiled back, warm and kind and strong.

I decided she was the best thing of Kirkwall so far.

The door of the parlor opened. Aveline straightened up.

Grandmother and the Prickle-person, Carver, came out in a jingle of metal and a rustle of misplace righteousness.

The Templar was speaking.

"You can't seriously expect me to believ…" He stopped and stood shock-still. Grandmother was behind him, though I knew because I could feel, not see, her. He blocked all the door, he was built like a bear.

The prickle-person was staring at me. I didn't like it. And I didn't like the look of incredulous disbelief in his eyes. I must have been very sick indeed if everyone believed I would die and was so surprised to see me up and about.

But still I didn't like being stared by the prickle-person.

The Guard-Captain put a hand on my head and moved to be at my side. It felt like protection. It felt good. I moved to be closer to her, too.

"Shit. Gawain." The Templar was breathless.

I kept my face as neutral as I could. "Ser." I said, as politely as I could. "Good day to you."

He shook his head slowly. "Bloody magic…" he whispered.

"I told you, Carver." Grandmother passed under the Templar's arm. It was a bit amusing to see her worming her way out of the parlor in her all fancy clothes.

"Did you, Leandra?"

I looked up at the Guard-Captain. Mother was called after her own Mother then? I heard noble people did stuff like that. Confusing, if you ask me.

Grandmother looked at Aveline. "Aveline… I thought Carver could help us with our… problem."

Aveline was looking into Carver's eyes, her gaze locked into his. "Oh, I am sure he can help all right." She spoke slow and stiff, one of her hand on my head, the other on her words. I felt myself tense. Something was wrong. "I am not sure that the kind of help he can give is something Hawke would want."

I didn't think the Templar could get whiter, but I was wrong. "What do you mean? What do you think I would do?" He spoke in a growl, his huge hands clenched at his side.

"I don't know, Carver. What will you do?" Aveline took a step toward him, putting herself between me and the Templar.

"Dears, let's not…"

Then it hit me.

Grandmother wanted to sell me to the Templar. They wanted to make me speak about Father and Bethany! That must be it. And Aveline didn't want that. Perhaps Aveline was one of Mother's friends from where she was in Kirkwall?

The adults were speaking among themselves. I took a deep breath and made myself as small as I could and silent. I turned toward the stairs and walked up, as calm as I could. I would have been stopped if I had gone toward the front door, but I didn't get more than a glance when I walked upstairs to my room. I walked, and slow at that, for you must never, never bolt and run when you are so close to something that thinks you are prey. They'll chase you.

Once I was in the room, I sprang into action. I retrieved my new bow and arrows and daggers and the money I had stashed away. I still had a whole ten sovereigns. I put on the least grand clothes Grandmother had made for me and snuck out of the window.

I walked out of the house.

Then I turned and stared at it. Grandmother was a bloody traitor. I doubted Mother knew. Or the nice healer. I walked away. First thing, get proper clothes. Second thing, get to the barracks.

It didn't take long to do the first thing and arrange for another set of leathers. With two leathers you can go a long way. Once I was properly dressed, with daggers at my belt and a bow on my shoulders, I felt a lot better indeed.

It was a chore to walk the streets. Some stones screamed when you stepped on them and the turns and streets felt sickening and wrong. The people felt heavy with cloying secrets as deep as molasses. I shook my head. Why people would live in cities when there were clean wilderness was beyond me.

The barracks were in the "Viscount Keep". It was the grandest building ever, with huge columns and a long walk to get there, like a canyon. I stared at everything. I was very small indeed. I stood in front of the building, clenching and unclenching my toes in my new boots. Perhaps I shouldn't get it. Perhaps…

I took a deep breath and squared my shoulders and walked in.

A guard stopped me.

"Hey kiddo. What you doing here?" He looked at my new enchanted armor and daggers and bow and made a funny face.

Everybody in this city was weird.

Or a traitor. Or a Templar.

Or both.

Maker **what** was I doing here?

"I… am searching for the Barracks. I have been told to go there."

"Yeah. Up the stairs to the right, then down the stairs again. Can't miss it."

I nodded politely.

"My thanks."

I marched in. The place was even huger inside than it looked from the outside, all hushed whispers and mute screams. The columns screamed in silence, the sound reverberating in the stone and thrumming on the soles of my feet. I shook my head. The air was cooler inside, too. That was good at least. I walked on the tall staircase with the plush red carpet and around and down again. I craned my neck to search for the ceiling. There was a ceiling, but it was so high above…

Still, I didn't think it was fair to make the columns scream just to hold such a high ceiling.

I stepped in. It was full of people in the same armor, coming and going and chatting and reading and some sleeping and some eating. Secrets swirled in the air, tying people together with ropes stronger than steel chain, or parting them better than any walls. This guardswoman had a child from a married man, that guardsman was hiding a present for his boyfriend, that other had left a murder go because they were relate…

I shook my head.

A tall guardsman with brown hair and heavy sideburns looked down at me and smiled.

"Hello, kid. I am guardsman Donnic. What can I do for you?" He lowered himself, putting his hands on his knees as he spoke.

"I am… Waiting for the Guard-Captain. She told me I could come here."

He frowned. "Did she?"

I nodded. "I am a family friend."

He looked at me and inclined his head. "You do have a familiar look around you. Very well, you can wait in her office, but don't touch anything all right?"

I smiled my most charming smile. "I won't, ser."

I went inside and looked around. A big room with a soft carpet, a desk, and a lot of books on the shelves. I stopped to look at the portrait of a woman with a strange hat. She didn't look like a guard at all.

I sat in a corner and hug my knees and put my forehead on them. I was alone, in a big city filled with Templars.

I was scared.

I started to tremble. I bit my lips. I wanted Father. I wanted Mother.  I hug myself, trying to get any warmth. This Guard-Captain would help me. Wouldn't she? What would I do if she didn't? I could go out of the city to hunt and gather but… alone?

How could I make back to my wilds?

Would I ever be back?

I felt tears falling on my forearms. I tried to stop the sounds coming from my throat. I couldn't stop the tears. But whiny sounds are for prey, and I have never been a prey.

But sometime it was hard to remember I was not one.

I cried for a long time, my throat raw from my attempt to kept in the sob, my face scrunched. Then I stopped crying and curled up, my face on my arms, and went to sleep, the tears drying on my checks.


End file.
